Sometimes, I am so frustrated that such people actually do exist.
It can be so draining, I just want to give up.
The highs are extremely exhilarating
But the lows are awfully demoralising,
I doubt I can endure it much longer.
Dear God, please give me strength and wisdom.
Guide me through it all.

“Meeting you was fate,

Becoming your friend was a choice,

but falling in love with you I had no control over.”

Sometimes I wished you'd be more forthcoming.
Sometimes I dream of holding you.
Sometimes you hold my hand.
When you do, my heart skips a beat.
But then again,
Sometimes holding hands means nothing.
Sometimes, sometimes,
I wish.

“Between men and women there is no friendship possible.

There is passion, enmity, worship, love,

but no friendship.”

(Oscar Wilde)

A Portrait of Joy

The wandering old lady tottered along the dust-filled alley,
Carrying ink-stained sheets of old brown tally.
Her hair peppered with streaks of silver
And her trodden p.js, a seeming shade of olive.
Her coarse small fingers wavering it’s motion
And her wrinkled face absent of emotion,
While her tiny body hunched like Quasimodo,
As she squats down to sift out worthier remnants of cardboard.
A lovely young lady wanders by,
Her rose tinted nails clutching a leather, petite sac.
As the radiant dark brown eyes caught the furrowed one.
She reached into her sac and grabbed a blue stash,
Ensuing, she rested it into the weathered hands.
Hereupon, the chapped lips parted to a beam
And the tiny hands tightened it’s grasp.
The creased eyes beholden, as she looked forth.
Then a tear trickled down on dry, hard, cheeks
Oh such beautiful glee
And a heart-rending sight,
Indeed a portrait of joy!